“Darling, I don’t mind tatreez. It gives me something to do. Makes me feel useful. Maybe it also reminds me of when I was a girl,” she said, stroking my hair. “Don’t worry. I know you’ll find the right job soon. In the meantime, you deserve some rest. You’re the one who has been carrying this family for years. If it hadn’t been for your hard work and smart investments, we would never have made it out. You’re the one who managed to earn enough to send your brother to college. He’d still be there if it wasn’t for Saddam, son of a bitch. But alhamdulillah, my daughter. Everything will be fine. We take what God gives us, good and bad, and trust in His wisdom.”

I sobbed harder on her chest. I had told so many lies and kept secrets that stood between us, a darkness where images lurked of who I really was. I felt dirty in my mother’s arms, wishing I could be the strong, resourceful woman she thought I was. She held me, stroking my face with one hand and wiping my tears with the other. “I am going to make you the most beautiful dress I’ve ever embroidered for your wedding, because you will find the right man to love and marry,” she said.

She kissed my forehead and wiped my tears, then picked up an embroidering spool. “Right now, I have to get back to this. I’ve got another small job before I finish the wedding dress.”

“I can help if you want,” I offered.

Mama set me up next to her with some thread and a chest piece that would be sewn to a thobe once it was embroidered. I followed her instructions for the cypress tree and pasha’s tent motifs and managed to accomplish about four centimeters of stitching before I realized it was all wrong. I unraveled the mess and started over, already bored and frustrated. But I pushed through, wanting to prove something—I don’t know what. Mama would look over at me occasionally and smile, making small talk about things she wanted to buy for the apartment, people we needed to visit soon to pay respects for a death or offer congratulations on a birth, upcoming wedding invitations. “And Ramadan is just around the corner,” she added.

“Is this right, Mama?” I showed her my second attempt. She leaned over my work, then looked at me. We both knew I was useless at anything requiring patience, but we pretended anyway, and now faced the inevitable. We held each other with our eyes. She grinned. I did the same, and irrepressible laughter rose in us both.

“You actually lasted longer than I expected,” Mama finally said. “Why don’t you go make us some tea while I do this.”